


Stay The Night (set fire to the third bar)

by Ryuutchi



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Canon - Video Game, Gen, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 20:05:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryuutchi/pseuds/Ryuutchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are the ones for whom she will not open her doors:  For the criminal in need of succor; for the merchant's son; for the brash woman; for the man who will not be true to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay The Night (set fire to the third bar)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lassarina Aoibhell (Lassarina)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassarina/gifts).



Do you know the story of the Yuki-onna, the ice woman who drinks in the warm breath of travelers in the snow? This could be her tale, but for the warm heart beating in the breast of the maiden at the heart of the story. To stand in the midst of fire, warm and happy, and to go on unharmed is the clearest display of faithfulness and love. For when the heart ceases to fan the embers of love and affection, all that is left is to become a child of snow.

Did you know, dear one, about the ghost of the Amagi Inn? In her red kimono, she is the most gracious of hosts, so long as you follow this one rule. Never ever mention the world outside. If she asks you to where you are traveling, answer her not. If she asks you from where you have come, bite your tongue. For the inn is her world and she brooks no intrusion into it. She will serve you the sweetest delicacies, and draw your bath. You will have a futon soft as heaven to sleep on, so long as you do not intrude upon the solitude of this small world.

If you ask her how she came to be here, she will answer only that she has always been. If you ask her why she opens her doors to the solitary traveler, she will say that this is what she has always done. She does not lie, dear one. For if you ask, all will say that the inn has always stood on that spot (although it lies in ruins once you turn your back). The doors open once to admit a traveler and once to release him. Any traveler in need will find a bed under her gentle gaze.

It does not open for some, though. These are the ones for whom she will not open her doors: For the criminal in need of succor; for the merchant's son; for the brash woman; for the man who will not be true to himself. As for these, if they were to bang on her door, she would pay them no heed, even were a terrible storm roaring.

* * *

  
There is a story yet told about the goddess of the sun, whose name means "She who Illuminates the Heavens."

It is said, dear one, that once upon a time, very long ago, far high up in the heavens, the goddess lived peaceably with the other kami. But one day, the Lord of Storms, jealous of her good fortune and of her peace and tranquility, lost his control. He rampaged through her fields, he killed her serving girls. Here looms were broken and her ditches filled. So hot did she blaze that her flames nearly guttered and burned out. To safeguard herself, she closed herself away from Heaven, sealing shut her divine cave and consigning the Heavens and Earth to wither and die without her warmth.

No kami could convince her to leave the safety of her cave, where her flames burned strong, for a cold and bitter Heaven. But an arrogant goddess, alarming and strong of will danced as though she were warmed by the sun goddess even through the rock of the cave mouth. And so curious was the One Who Illuminates, that she stepped out and the Heavens were once again bathed in light.

* * *

  
The ghost of the inn will not step out. Not for laughter or for dance. Not for man or woman. If you ask her about the world outside the in, her fire will engulf you whole, you see.

The baths of the Amagi inn were famous once upon a time. When the inn was not closed and ruined, and the fires were banked but open to all who wished to enter. Then the ghost was not a ghost, but a young girl who wore her heart on her sleeve. She was truly in love, but with whom no one knows. Some say it was with the rich son of a merchant, who cut like a sharp wind and tore her to pieces. Some say it was a brash and arrogant girl, who wanted the ghost who was not yet a ghost and caged her, stealing her warmth until it flickered near to death. Some say there was a boy who loved her too well, but lied with his hands and his heart, and who was stolen away by the storm of a boy.

Into the cold and snow, she lost herself, unable to find her way home, or unwilling. For home was too warm, when her love had stolen away the heat she held inside. Do you understand yet, dear one? It is a tragedy all too common. But this child of the snow, she held onto the last spark of heat.

Maybe if she had gone home her servants would have fed her and offered her fresh, heated robes. Her mother would have taken her by the hand and led her to the hot springs. Perhaps the flames of her heart then would have reignited like a candle's flame, healthy and gentle. But she nursed her spark, out in the ice. And when she could stand it no longer, only then did she return to her inn, only then did she let the heat suffuse her frozen body and ignite her and everything about her. Her touch burned through the paper screens and the wooden beams. If she would not be a lady of ice, she would be a lady of fire.

* * *

  
There is a story told, my love, about the fire blossom princess.

Her husband was devoted, you see and wanted none but her as a wife. But she grew pregnant and her husband's love dimmed, and he feared, as beautiful as she was, she had laid with another man. She closed herself up in a house with no windows and no doors, and hid her light. She would not come out to his pleas. For, she said, if I have been faithful, this fire will not burn me. With her own fire, the fire blossom princess lit her house on fire, and stood unscathed at its heart.

* * *

  
This is the story, dear one, of a girl. Perhaps it is the story of a ghost or a goddess, or perhaps it is a warning.

Do you know the ghost of the Amagi Inn? She will open the door for you, but she will never open her heart.


End file.
